


Historical Monographs on Decomposition

by Wreck



Series: 20 fics in 20 days [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1284049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wreck/pseuds/Wreck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, yes, I suppose I should have said hello,” the young man commented absently. “So, hello. Now that that’s out of the way: decomposition. Yes, I know you can get a multitude of information about this on the Internet, and what a way to inform a whole new generation of serial killers, but I’m interested in historical monographs on the subject.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Historical Monographs on Decomposition

Working the Medical Library wasn’t the highest paying job on campus, but since John practically lived in the library as a 3rd year med student, he may as well get paid to be there at least some of the time. And the job itself was almost mind-numbingly boring. He spent half of his time shelving books, and the other half helping undergrads that hadn't yet become familiar with the library find reference texts. 

Early into the term, John was unsurprised to learn that no one wanted to work the late evening shifts, especially on Thursdays and Fridays. John, however, jumped at the chance to pick up extra shifts, and spent most of those nights getting paid to study in the mostly empty library. 

John was deep into revising some notes on a slow Friday evening when he heard quick footsteps approaching on the marble floor.

“Decomposition,” a voice said in a haughty public school accent.

John looked up to find a man, a couple years younger than himself, maybe late teens or early twenties, with a mop of dark hair and wearing a full-length black coat (indoors in August!) looking at him expectantly.

“Um, hi?” John asked in a slightly annoyed voice. He knew this was his job, but most people who came into the Medical Library on a Friday night came to write or study, not do research. 

“Oh, yes, I suppose I should have said hello,” the young man commented absently. “So, hello. Now that that’s out of the way: decomposition. Yes, I know you can get a multitude of information about this on the Internet, and what a way to inform a whole new generation of serial killers, but I’m interested in historical monographs on the subject.”

John blinked at the man, his brain scrambling to process the unexpected request. 

The man made a frustrated noise and turned to walk away, “Never mind, I’ll find them myself.”

“No, no,” John called after him. “Sorry, my mind was still on my revisions. Organic Chemistry,” he explained, gesturing at his book. “So, decomposition monographs? Yeah, I can help with that.”

John jabbed at some buttons on the library system computer with one hand as he pulled out some scrap out of a pile. After scrounging around for a pencil, and beginning to write down the some reference numbers, he looked up to find the other man looking around the library and glancing at his phone impatiently. 

“We don’t get too much demand for historical monographs,” John said conversationally. “Are you pre-med or a history major?”

“Yes,” the man agreed absently.

John furrowed his brow, but handed the list of references to the other man anyway. “Here you go,” John said with a smile. 

The other man quickly glanced at the paper, nodded, and then shoved it in his pocket.

John quirked an eyebrow at him questioningly and the other man paused, his eyes flicking down to John’s name tag. “Well, thank you, John. You’ve been unexpectedly helpful.”

John cocked his head to the side unsure if he was just complimented or insulted. “Uh, sure. Anytime…”

“Holmes,” the young man supplied. “Sherlock Holmes.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the rows of books. John watched his figure retreat for a moment and then went back to his work. 

A few hours later, when he locked up the library at the end of the night, a messy haired figure in a coat was waiting for him on the steps. 

“I thought I’d thank you for your help earlier,” Sherlock said, falling into step next to John. 

“Did you find what you needed?” John asked. 

“Oh yes,” Sherlock said with feeling. 

“Good, I’m glad I helped. Now if you’ll–“

“So, how do you feel about Chinese?”

“What?”

“You can always tell a good Chinese place by examining the bottom third of the door handle,” Sherlock continued. “I know just the place. It’s on me.”

John pretended to weigh his options: to go home to his empty flat and keep revising or learn more about this intriguing creature before him. Who was he kidding? John was already lost. 

“Sure,” John said finally. “Lead the way.”


End file.
